


Falling Into Trust

by Claire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Peter on his knees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 01:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10777014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: Chris looks down at where Peter is kneeling, his wrists tied behind his back and mouth held open with a ring gag.





	Falling Into Trust

Chris looks down at where Peter is kneeling, his wrists tied behind his back and mouth held open with a ring gag. And Chris knows that Peter is only there because he wants to be, that the restraints holding his wrists are nowhere near strong enough to hold a wolf, never mind Peter Hale. He knows that Peter's kneeling because, for some reason, Peter trusts him with this, trusts Chris is that part of him he doesn't show anyone else.

Reaching out, Chris cups Peter's cheek. "You ready, pup?" he asks. Even though he thinks that Peter's been ready ever since he sank to his knees in front of Chris and let him put the ring gag in and strap it around his head.

Peter doesn't speak, he can't make much more than soft noises with the gag in, but he nods. His eyes stay on Chris' as Chris slowly undoes his belt with the hand not cupping Peter's face.

Unzipping his jeans, Chris slides his hand inside, releasing his hard cock. He's been half hard ever since Peter turned up at his door, eyes barely able to meet Chris' as the soft "Please--" had left his lips. And Chris likes to think he understands how difficult it is for Peter to ask this, even though Chris has never turned him away, has never said no. Because Chris remembers the days when it was easy for the words to leave Peter's lips, easy for him to go to his knees. Back before fire and ash washed away every bit of trust they had.

And he knows that Peter tried to find this elsewhere, tried to let others take floggers and whips to his skin, but none of them knew how to drop a wolf, none of them knew what Peter is. So Chris had watched from the shadows, watched as man after man approached Peter in the club, all of them wanting to take down the submissive that bowed for no one. He watched as they strapped him into crosses and benches, and flayed his skin, watched how they restrained him and beat him. And he watched how none of it ever touched Peter, how he'd be released at the end of the night and would walk away, a defiant smirk on his face and a look in his eyes that Chris never wanted to see there.

Chris didn't approach him those first few times, even though Peter had to know he was there. He never tried to mask his scent from the wolf, not after the first time he walked into the club and Peter met his eyes within seconds. He never masked his scent and never masked his arousal, letting Peter smell just how much Chris wanted him, just how much watching Peter take everything he was given and still walk away afterwards turned him on.

It wasn't until yet another Dom failed to give Peter what he needed that Chris approached him. He followed Peter out of the club, watching as the wolf reached his car before dropping his head and breathing deeply.

"I know you're there, Argent," Peter had said, prompting Chris to close the distance between them.

"Next time, you come to me," Chris had told him, even though he knew he had no right to this side of Peter any more, even though he doubted Peter would ever trust a hunter, an Argent, to put him on his knees again.

Peter hadn't answered, just gotten in his car and driven away, leaving Chris standing there.

Two weeks later, Peter had turned up at Chris', not meeting his eyes until Chris had taken his chin and forced Peter to look at him.

"Do you trust me?" Chris had asked.

The answer had been belligerent. "No."

Chris had let Peter keep the lie. He'd known that the wolf wouldn't have been there if there still hadn't been some trust between them. Enough to allow what had been about to happen, at least.

The following morning Peter had left Chris'. The marks had healed, the red across his skin no longer showing, but he still carried Chris' scent, rubbed into every part of him.

Less than a month later, Chris had seen him back at the club. Peter had ignored those reaching out to him, had side-stepped the man trying to wrap a hand around Peter's arm. He'd cast them off without even looking at them until he was standing in front of Chris.

"Do you trust me, Peter?" Chris had asked again, not surprised when the smirk had crossed Peter's lips.

"Never," Peter had replied.

It hadn't stopped him from going to his knees, hadn't stopped him from taking Chris into himself and giving himself over to Chris' hands.

It soon moved from the club to Chris' house. Moved from Peter, kneeling before Chris in front of strangers, in front of those who had tried to bend Peter and failed, to him kneeling for Chris and Chris alone.

And there were days when Peter went down easily. Where he sank to his knees and suckled Chris' cock until he swallowed everything down. Days where Chris' hand reddened Peter's skin and Chris' flogger wrapped over Peter's back. Days where Peter kneeled and Chris stroked himself until he was coming over Peter's face, the wolf's skin wearing the white marks with ease.

And then there were the days when Peter turned up at Chris' and Chris knew from the look in the wolf's eyes that every step, every action would be a struggle.

But tonight is not one of those nights. Tonight, Peter had walked into Chris' house, standing in the bedroom as he stripped, folding his clothes onto the chair against the wall until he stood there, his eyes not meeting Chris'.

He'd opened his lips as Chris had slipped the ring gag in, fitting the metal behind teeth just slightly too sharp to be human. And he'd let Chris tie his hands, wrists bound together behind him as he was on his knees.

Peter's softer than he normally is, less sharp, less defiant. And Chris isn't sure what's caused it, but he can guess. Because Peter is only this bruised when the jagged rocks of family have washed over him. When the ghost of Talia is whispering in his ear, and Derek's scorn and hatred is focused in his direction.

Chris' cock is hard in his hand as he steps forward, the head slipping between Peter's lips and through the ring holding his mouth open.

And, god, Chris, is never going to stop loving this, the way Peter's mouth is hot and wet around him. The way Peter's tongue works at every part of Chris he can reach as Chris slowly moves in and out of his mouth.

Chris cups Peter's face in his hands, holding him still as he starts to move quicker, to thrust harder. His cockhead is dipping into Peter's throat on each push, Peter swallowing around his gag reflex, almost massaging Chris' cock.

"Fuck, Peter--"

The words slip out unbidden, because Chris can't hold them in. And he doesn't need to look down to know that Peter's hard, that just being on his knees for Chris, having Chris in his mouth and being surrounded by his scent is enough for Peter's dick to be straining.

There are tears in Peter's eyes as he gasps around Chris' cock, pulling in breaths of air every time Chris pulls back before he pushes inside again.

Moving his foot forward, Chris nudges at Peter's cock with his boot. That act is all it takes for Peter to start rubbing against Chris' boot, his hips hunching as he tries desperately to chase his own orgasm.

"Don't you dare, pup," Chris warns, the words breathy and strained because it feels like all the air has left him, been sucked out of his body by Peter. "You know the rules."

Because Peter's not allowed to come before Chris does, not allowed that release before Chris' pleasure. And even if Peter snarls at him because of it, Chris knows the denial turns him on, makes him come harder when he's finally allowed to.

Peter's tongue is flicking at Chris' cock, and Chris takes it for the sign it is. The sign that Peter knows he's getting close, knows that his own pleasure is within reach. Tightening his grip on Peter's face, Chris fucks his mouth, hips snapping forward with little thought beyond want and need and how fucking perfect Peter feels around him.

He can feel it building in his balls, that slow burn of heat ready to explode out of him, and all it takes is Peter's tongue, lapping against his cockhead. All it takes is the look in Peter's eyes as he meets Chris' gaze, too bright and too blue. And then Chris is coming, pouring himself into Peter and watching as the wolf swallows it all.

Peter hasn't even finished swallowing before he's thrusting against Chris' foot, wild and frantic. Once, twice, and then Peter shudders as he comes, stripping the leather of Chris' boot with white.

Peter's panting heavily as Chris pulls out of his mouth. He gets to his knees beside Peter, cursing inwardly that he's nowhere near as graceful as the wolf is when he sinks to the floor. Reaching out, Chris' fingers undo the gag, carefully taking it out of Peter's mouth and dropping it to the floor to be cleaned later.

Chris brushes his thumbs over the red marks on Peter's cheeks, the quickly fading imprints from where the gag has been vanishing under Chris' touch.

Pushing himself back to his feet, he holds out his hand.

"Do you trust me, Peter?" he says.

There's a beat, and then Peter nods, taking Chris' hand in his own. "Yes."


End file.
